


The Weight of Her Misery

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Bleak House - Charles Dickens
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: wisdom</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Her Misery

The rain is steady as ever, pattering against the window in a rhythm that make Lady Dedlock’s skin crawl. A tear drops down her cheek, mimicking the movement of a droplet of rain as it dizzily skitters across the pane of glass. It seems it will never end; not the rain, not the sadness.

She’s trained herself to lock away the sadness, lock in deep within the cage of her heart. It sits there like a stone. She no longer feels it the way she formerly did; it no longer radiates but is instead stagnant and festering. It will one day consume her. She’s wise enough in her years to know that a woman cannot live a cold, half-life forever.

Lady Dedlock hears light footsteps on the carpet behind her. She knows without having to turn her head that Rosa has come to her, as if summoned by the weight of her misery.

“You are sad, M’lady,” Rosa says quietly, coming to stand by Lady Dedlock’s arm. “How may I comfort you?”

It is several moments before Lady Dedlock turns her face towards the girl, and just the concerned visage is enough to draw a smile out of the melancholia that drowns her. She reaches out a hand, cold as ice, and cups her maid’s cheek. “There is no comfort for me.”

“Please?” Rosa dips her face into the crook of Lady Dedlock’s palm. “Anything, M’lady.”

“Sit with me a while,” Lady Dedlock suggests, placing herself upon the window seat. Rosa promptly sits beside her. “Rest your head in my lap.”

Rosa does not question her—she never questions an order from her mistress—and promptly lays her cornflower head upon her lady’s lap. Lady Dedlock’s fingers work carefully, tenderly, as they undo braids and bun, loosening each silken strand. She gently combs through her hair, her nails scratching lightly against the scalp, her thumb brushing the shell of an ear.

A small sigh escapes Rosa’s lips. Lady Dedlock feels that small utterance throughout her entire being. It settles low in her chest, warming the cold that envelopes her.

“Would you prefer I do this for you, M’lady?” Rosa asks, grasping Lady Dedlock’s knee as her mistress’s fingers massage the nape of her neck.

“Does this give you pleasure?”

“Oh yes,” Rosa whispers breathlessly. She tightens the grip of her hand.

“Then I want nothing more than to continue this for as long as I am permitted.” She realizes, then, that she would be content to stroke this perfect mane of hair until her hearts ceases beating.

Rosa turns slightly and looks up at her, her eyes wild and wide, her hair flowing freely around the milky white flesh of her face. “I would permit you anything, M’lady.”

Lady Dedlock knows this to be true. Rosa, sweet, dear, beautiful Rosa, cannot save Lady Dedlock from her misery, but she will make the misery more easy to bear.

\---


End file.
